Through the Blue Eyes of a Boy Wonder
by FlossSwallower
Summary: It was back in that humid circus that the ropes snapped and The Flying Graysons plummeted, lying still on the ground, flying no more.


Dick pushed open the curtains lightly, looking out at the sawdust floor and the filled audience. They all sat in their seats, sweating slightly under the lights and in the hot summer heat. He glanced upward, looking at the two stands for the trapeze act.

There was no net.

Dick was fairly used to this. He'd done acts with nets before, sure, but he'd also done quite a few acts without nets, and now was just another performance.

Sighing and wiping some sweat off his brow, Dick closed the curtains and turned around, his light blue eyes looking around at the other performers, at his family, at the clowns. He knew all of these people. There were the strongmen, Jimmy and Dean, who Dick loved. Dick would constantly brag to them about what new weight he could now lift, and they'd grin and tousle the black, curly locks of his hair, usually, or sometimes they'd act impressed and say, "Well, I'm sure you'll have no trouble lifting this, then?" and hand him a gigantic weight. Then there were the clowns, of course, who were friendly, and would usually amuse Dick when he'd come strolling by on the train while they were relaxing on a bench and smoking and tell him a few jokes. Next, of course, were his family, the older members of the amazing Flying Graysons act. His mother and father were both black-haired, like Dick, their hands callused and their grips firm from clasping around the tight swings of the trapeze act. Dick's father was a hearty man, muscular and athletic, like Dick, and served as Dick's role model, his mentor, he was the one Dick always went to whenever he had a question he wanted to ask or a new move he wanted to try out or just a person to hang out with that he could look up to, that was more than just a friend, but family.

Dick's mother was also a very hearty woman, her eyes green, her hair black and curly like Dick and his father's. Dick remembered when he was very little, lying down in his bed, the thin blanket pulled over him, he could hear the sounds of the train moving and his mother's voice as she told him fairy tales, tales about Robin Hood, about King Arthur, about all those people, and that was how Dick would fall asleep, the warmth of his father's hands tightly wrapping around Dick's wrists and stopping him from falling still present, that pleasant rushing feeling of wind against the stomach as he swung downwards through the air still there, the reassuring webbing lightly touching his back as he fell down into the net, bounced up, and walked off, the act done.

There was no net there now.

Dick sighed again. There was nothing to be worried about. He'd done it hundreds of times! But it wasn't that that he was worried about, really.

The day before, still panting, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a towel and walking through the back of the circus, having just finished an act, Dick had suddenly frozen, hearing a conversation.

"What do you mean you haven't got the money?"

"I mean we're poor, Mr. Zucco! This is a circus we run here, honestly, how much money do you think we make?"

Mr. Haley's voice.

Mr. Haley was a very kind old man, with twinkling blue eyes and silver hair, bushy eyebrows hanging above those twinkling eyes, the silver hair on top of his head balding.

"Yeah, well, tough deal. You've been making enough money to pay me before this, haven't cha?"

"But now we're out!"

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don't know what to expect!"

"Fine. You know what? Fine. But you're going to be VERY sorry for this, Mr. Haley."

"Dick?"

Dick suddenly snapped out of his trance, realizing that he'd been staring off into space this entire time. He looked up at his mother.

The Flying Graysons all wore same outfit, a skin-tight red outfit with a green area covering the stomach.

"Hi, Ma," Dick said.

"Something wrong?" Dick's mother asked.

"No, nothing. Just thinking 'bout the act," Dick said.

"Oh, come on, now, you've done this a million times. There's nothing to be scared of, Dick. I know you'll do just fine, Dick, because you always do. You're a Grayson, aren't you? A Flying Grayson," Dick's mother said, and smiled.

Dick smiled back, then said, "Yeah, I guess."

"Trust me, Dick, you'll be just fine," Dick's mother said.

"Yeah, but that's not really what I'm worried about. Ma, yesterday I heard these two guys talki-"

"PRESENTING THE FLYING GRAYSONS!" suddenly boomed the loud voice of Mr. Haley.

"Oh! That's us! Like I said, dear, there's nothing to worry about! You're a Grayson, Dick, remember that," Dick's mother said kindly, gripping his shoulders tightly and reassuringly and then beginning to walk forth.

Dick followed her, his father quickly catching up, the three of them all walking like dancers, elegant, beautiful, walking on the balls of their feet across the sawdust.

The curtains parted, and the light instantly hit the three of them, blinding Dick for a moment as it washed over him and he waved, but he quickly got used to it, looking around at the cheering crowd. His eyes wandered back up to the stands.

_You're a Grayson, a Flying Grayson_.

Dick continued to play his mother's words over in his head as the family of three walked across the sawdust and stopped over by the ladder. Dick's father's hands clasped around one of the rings, then his foot came up, and he boosted himself upwards and began to climb.

_A Flying Grayson, Dick, a Flying Grayson._

Once his mother was far enough up, Dick's hands wrapped around the rings, and he began to climb, captured in the light as he moved up the ladder, the eyes of dozens of kids and adults on him, watching the small twelve-year old boy who was about to do a trapeze act without a net. Dick was used to this, though, as The Flying Graysons weren't just any trashy old circus act, no, Dick was famous for being one of the few people able to a quadruple somersault.

"Remember, Dick, a Grayson, a Flying Grayson," Dick's mother said, taking his hand and pulling him up onto the stand as Dick reached the top.

Dick took a deep breath as he stood up on the splintery old wood, gazing down at all the members of the audience.

Dick's father began to untie the swings that were tied up by their stand. There were three of them. Dick's mother and father would take two, side by side, and swing forth, then would swing around at the end, and as soon as they began to swing back towards the stand, Dick would grab his, swing forth, then leap, his arms stretched out, and would be caught by his parents, both parents grabbing one arm.

"Nothing to be afraid of, dear," Dick's mother said again.

Dick didn't say anything, but nodded, staring at the swings. Sure, he'd done this before, but still, what if he messed up? He knew his parents were perfectly capable of catching him, but still, what if he jumped at the wrong moment and landed short?

Dick's father untied the last swing, the three swings now hanging, ready, by the post.

Dick's mother walked forth, grabbing her swing, leaving just Dick's in the middle.

"1."

"2."

"3."

"GO!" Dick's father said, and the two swung away.

It was beautiful to watch as they passed through the light, their dancer's bodies bathed in white as they elegantly swung forth.

Wait.

Dick looked up. A cracking noise. He looked at the ropes.

No.

NO.

The ropes tore, and the two beautiful flying dancers fell, still captured in the beautiful white light of the spotlights as they plummeted.

NO.

The bodies made an almost clap-like noise as they crashed down to the ground, sawdust flying up around them, lying still, their dancer's bodies moving no more.

NO.

NO.

NO.

NO.

NO.

Tears began to stream from Dick's eyes as he collapsed to his knees, looking down at the two sprawled out figures in the sawdust.

The Flying Graysons flew no more.

Dick's vision blurred as he pushed himself back up, staggering, unable to see a thing as his heart pounded against his chest as if it wanted to burst out and go down and help the bodies below.

Dick continued to sob as he found the post on the stand, finally finding a place to rest, but no, something just pushed him. He pushed against the post, sliding his feet across the floor. He just wanted to keep moving. He just wanted to move, to fly again.

"OH MY GOD!"

"WHOA, DID YOU SEE THAT?!"

"HOLY COW!"

The screams of the audience barely reached Dick as he slid down against the post, continued to sob, the tears dripping down onto his outfit. Sitting there, still bathing in the spotlight, tears streaming down his face, Dick felt like he was in a play, a tragedy.

"SON?"

A kind-sounding voice came blasting down from the ground.

"SON, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

It wasn't his father talking.

"MAYBE YOU SHOULD COME DOWN FROM THERE, HUH?"

Dick looked around through his blurred eyes at the spotlights, at the two torn ropes that hung above him, at the other stand that they were supposed to have reached. He tried to look down, but no, something whipped his head back to the post, forcing him to look up at the roof of the tent.

"YOU'RE NAME IS DICK, ISN'T IT? OR RICHARD? RICH?"

"DICK."

The words sounded so odd coming out of him, Dick didn't even feel like he'd spoken them, but they were his voice, they came from him somehow.

"WELL, ALRIGHT, DICK. HOW ABOUT YOU COME DOWN FROM THERE, HUH?"

Dick didn't reply this time, but merely continued to sob. The cries of the audience were gone now, it seemed, and Dick only heard chatter from below.

"COME ON, DICK, WHY DON'T YOU COME DOWN FROM THERE, HUH? I'M NOT GONNA HURT YOU."

Jump.

It was like a million voices in Dick's head were shouting at him, pounding at his brain, pulling his legs and arms and chest towards the edge of the stand, wanting him to jump. He could fly again. He could fly and be one of The Flying Graysons one last time. But no. He continued to stay seated there against the splintery wood, leaning against the post and weeping.

"DICK? I-I'M COMING UP, ALRIGHT, DICK? DON'T BE AFRAID."

Dick heard the familiar sound of someone coming up the ladder and quickly scrambled up to his feet, backing away to the edge of the stand. After a moment, he saw hands, then a head, and then a body as the man stood fully up on the stand.

The man was middle-aged, with many wrinkles on his forehead underneath a head of flaming red hair. He wore a lengthy tan trenchcoat, unbuttoned at the moment, and one could see a large holster at his side, a revolver tucked into it. The man did look very friendly, he looked like a father himself, looking at Dick with large blue eyes.

"Hi, Dick," he said gently.

Dick said nothing.

"Do you- Do you think maybe you wanna come down now?" the man asked.

Dick shook his head.

"Oh… Well, alright," the man said, and relaxed, sitting down and leaning against the post as Dick had did.

Dick watched him suspiciously. What was he going to do?

"My name's Commissioner Gordon," the man said.

"Hi," Dick said weakly.

"Hi," Commissioner Gordon said, then continued, "You like the trapeze?"

Dick nodded.

"Me too. Weird being up here, never got to see what it was like being up here," Commissioner Gordon said.

"What about my parents?" Dick said abruptly.

Commissioner Gordon looked at him, then said, "What about them?"

"Are they alright?" Dick asked.

"I think you and I both know the answer to that question, Dick. I'm sorry," Commissioner Gordon said.

Dick nodded silently.

"That's a nice outfit," Commissioner Gordon said.

"Thanks," Dick said.

"Well, of course. How long you been an acrobat, Dick?" Commissioner Gordon asked.

"My whole life. Since I was just a kid," Dick said.

Commissioner Gordon chuckled and smiled slightly, then continued, "I don't think I'd ever be able to do all that. Flips and somersaults and all. No, I'm too old and fat."

Dick laughed a little.

Commissioner Gordon smiled again.

"What's it like? B-Being a cop?" Dick asked meekly.

"Oh, it's pretty nice. I get to help people," Commissioner Gordon said.

Dick nodded.

Commissioner Gordon looked at him again, then said, "You sure you don't want to come down, Dick?"

Dick was silent a moment, looking down at the splintery wood of the stand, then quietly said, "Okay."

"That's good. Come on," Commissioner Gordon said, standing up and starting down the ladder, Dick following.

Dick clenched his fist and closed his eyes, swinging away as they reached the bottom at the sight of his parents, tears beginning to slip out again.

"You okay, Dick?" came the voice of Commissioner Gordon beside him.

"Yeah. I'm fine," Dick said, opening his eyes and releasing the tears, then sniffing and wiping his eyes.

"That's good. We're going to find you a good home, Dick, don't worry," Commissioner Gordon said as the two began to walk forward.

Dick nodded a bit, then looked up as he saw a man waiting by the bleachers, looking at him. He wore a suit, his hair black and straight, combed perfectly, his hands in his pocket. He was tall and muscular and handsome and Dick recognized him instantly. It was Bruce Wayne, that rich playboy guy.

"Bruce. What are you doing here?" Commissioner Gordon asked, stopping when he saw him.

"I came to see the show," Bruce said, looking at Gordon, then back down at Dick. Dick stared back at him.

"Hi," Bruce said.

"Hey," Dick replied.

"You're Dick Grayson aren't you?" Bruce asked.

"Yeah," Dick said.

"I've seen your shows before. You're pretty amazing up there on the trapeze or on the tightrope," Bruce said.

"Thanks," Dick said in return.

Bruce looked at Dick for a moment, then said, "Would you like to come and live with me?"

Dick looked back at Bruce, then said, "How do I know you're not some kind of freak?"

Bruce and Gordon both chuckled, then Gordon said, "Mr. Wayne is a good friend of mine, Dick. You can trust him."

Dick nodded, and looked at Bruce.

"I know what you're going through, Dick. My parents died when I was just a kid, too," Bruce said.

"They got shot, didn't they?" Dick asked.

"Yeah," Bruce said.

Dick nodded again, then said, "Do you miss them?"

"Of course," Bruce said.

"Okay. C-Can I just- Can I just go get my things, I guess?" Dick asked.

Bruce smiled slightly, then said, "Sure."


End file.
